


A Tale of Two Empires

by TheMagicPocketTurtle



Category: Dishonored
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMagicPocketTurtle/pseuds/TheMagicPocketTurtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Class-Swap AU: The Emperor is dead, and with no heirs, Dunwall is thrown into chaos. Jessamine, the local crime lord, sees an opportunity to consolidate her own power in the streets, but between the warring politicians and the increasing threat of the plague, there may soon be nothing left of either empire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to make absolutely clear what I mean by a class-swap. Essentially, all the high-born characters are now lowborn, and low-born characters are nobles or some suchlike. With that, thanks for looking in and I hope you enjoy the show!

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

He wasn't the best Emperor, but he was far from the worst. He was cunning, he was fierce, he loved his wars like he loved his whores and booze, and he'd inherited a navy and made it known from north of Tyvia to south of Serkonos. He was strong and hard, but he was honest, and an honest Emperor was rare to come by. Despite his scalding blood he was loved. He was feared, but he was also adored.

His casket was paraded through the streets, a chance for the people to say goodbye. the Emperor had never much cared for flowers, but he was covered with them nonetheless. The carriage pulled went so slowly that the common folk could wander close by, dropping their own wilted offerings into the swath.

There were four Overseers marching with their music boxes- Two before the casket, two behind, playing non-stop to ward off the Outsider, and any other malicious spirits of the void that sought to disrupt this sacred and sorrowful procession. Under most circumstances, the High Overseer himself would be marching at the head, alongside the Lord Protector and the Spymaster, but he had opted instead to remain at the Abbey, preparing for the final sermon and procession that would proceed the funeral pyre.

The Lord Protector, Crowley, trudged dourly beside the Spymaster, his arm linked around hers in a gingerly fashion. It seemed almost as though he were trying to hide behind the doddering old women. It did not become a Lord Protector to outlive his charge, no matter what the circumstances of death were.

It was known that neither the former Emperor nor his Protector were particularly fond of the old Spymaster. She was practically a relic, having served under two Emperor's now, soon perhaps a third. The age had gone to her head. She was humming away as she tottered on, although it was hardly audible over the mathematical music the Overseers churned out. Vera Moray occasionally waved at the crowd, as though oblivious to the circumstances of the march.

Behind the casket was a small entourage of the Emperor's closest friends and confidants, including the Royal Physician, who looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else. Of course, Piero Joplin gave that impression any time he came out in public. He was a whiny, skittish sort of man and one couldn't help but wonder how anyone with as few social skills as he managed to land a position of such high regard.

It was well past noon by the time the casket made its way to Holgar Street. The High Overseer spoke some words of comfort, and reminded people to remain faithful to the strictures.

It was fitting, in a way, that the Emperor wore a naval uniform instead of the traditional Emperor's garb. It was his legacy, after all. It was what he'd be known for- the slack-jawed lord of the sea, cunning and brutish, and maybe not always wise, but honest, and fair, and worthy of his blood.

If he'd had any heirs, the shadows he cast would've been long indeed.


	2. Month of Clans: Homecoming

**CHAPTER 1**

**MONTH OF CLANS**

* * *

Corvo found something about the streets lights to be very calming. He'd never had them as a child- Serkonos was still very backwards in its ways, and even the city lamps were kept alight by thick candles in glass cases- nothing like these electrical marvels, powered by whale oil, jokingly referred to as the "blood of the Outsider". The Marked were not so keen on its use, and had campaigned heavily against its widespread adoption, to no avail. The Marked were powerful, as a whole and as individuals, but they were not as strong as progress and convenience.

Regardless, Corvo appreciated the lamps. They were lovely and bright and illuminated his path home.

The streets were quiet. Many windows were shuttered. A number of white, wilted petals edged the sidewalks, stomped into crevices and cracks, small reminders of the funeral that had passed. He expected Emily would want to tell him all about it. A few guards ambled along their patrols, but otherwise there was no one about. Corvo instinctively avoided them- his face was not widely known to the public, and he was doing nothing questionable (currently), but he stuck to his habits. He slid into an ally and continued on his way.

He'd been gone a while- this job had been... tricky. Keep the target alive, take them wherever you deem fit, get them out of Dunwall, but whatever you do,  _do not kill them_. There was really only one person you could go to for a job like that. It required to much finesse for a thug or an assassin. No. If you wanted someone to disappear, you spoke to Blue Jess, and her Shadow would do the job.

Some young would-be heir's brother was usually the target, or some politician that might be useful to have around later. It wasn't common business, but it was profitable.

He could hear coughing from the ally- some sickly vagabond, all to common in the city. Corvo had long since learned to ignore them, and he breezed by without much thought. When they tugged at the hem of his coat, Corvo jerked it away and continued. When the vagabond grabbed his ankle, Corvo spun and ground his other heel into the man's wrist.

The sound the man made at this was ghastly, and Corvo stumbled back in shock- The ally was not well lit, but he could make out the silhouette of someone getting jerkily to their feet, sliding up the wall for balance.

"Stay down, I'm only passing through."

The man didn't seem to heed Corvo's warning, and instead lurched toward him, moaning. Corvo retreated a few more steps- he had no interest in fighting the homeless, especially not in the dark. A few more paces and Corvo was bathed in lamp light again, with his tag-along not far behind.

Their mouth was flecked with black, and their eyes were red. Maroon track marks had worn down his cheeks, as though his tears were rusted. He stumbled about in an ungainly manner, and not once did he let up his moaning. He reached a dirty hand out to Corvo, who could only bat it away in shock.

The man lunged for him, and Corvo swung his arm up, catching the man in the throat and slamming him into the wall. His skull cracked, and Corvo thought he saw blood on the bricks. He let the man drop, and went back along his way.

He hadn't too much further to go- Bottle Street was near to the heart of the city, and there were a thousand ways to end up on its cobblestones. He hadn't realized how fast he'd been going until he found himself breathing heavily on the doorstep he called base and home. He fumbled a bit with the key, and let himself in.

Jessamine, or "Blue Jess" as some called her, had bought the building when their old base in the basement of a bar grew too small to hold their growing gang. Some days it felt like they were going to outgrow this one too. A single candle guttered on a side table, casting shadows on the men who had fallen asleep on the couch. Corvo blew it out and continued down the hall and up the stairs. Four flights up, and he could hear voices.

"Do you really believe it's going to get that bad?"

"It already has. I've been ferrying people out as far as Potterstead for weeks now. More coin than I ever saw in the navy."

"I'm flattered that you're looking to share."

"It's becoming more and more dangerous out there. I nearly lost my head to some madman who insisted he was getting a free ride out of this wretched city."

"And did he?"

"Er, in a manner of speaking."

A rap on the doorframe, and Jessamine looked up. "Corvo. Do come in."

Jessamine's office was moderately sized- a converted bedroom that had several papers tacked up to the walls- jobs that her gang had been hired to do, notes she had taken on rival leaders, wanted posters and ads and even a few childish drawings all had their places. The windows were shuttered. Jessamine herself was bent over her table, a pen in one hand while the other pinned a bit of paper to the surface. She was meticulous, in a way. She kept notes on everything.

Seated across from her was a burly looking man with a scar under his left eye. He looked to be in his forties, broad-chested- if it weren't for the way he held himself Corvo might have written him off as an average brute.

Corvo took his place quietly behind Jessamine. She didn't bother introducing him to the man, but returned to business. "So you want protection, is that it?"

"I can take care of myself, it's my customers I'm not so sure of."

Jessamine nodded and scratched something down. "Very well then. For now we'll take two-thirds profit. You can lodge here or on your own, although if you lodge here I won't make you pay rent. And you'll be fed." she turned the paper around and pushed it toward the man. "I'll need your mark here."

"Two thirds- that's ridiculous!"

"These are ridiculous times. I'm making a generous offer- most of my men split a tenth of the profit on any single job they take, plus their monthly cut of the overall intake. If you're venture is as profitable as you claim, that's far more than them. I understand that you are the only one capable of doing this job at this time, so like I said, I'm being  _generous_. You won't get a more fair offer from the Wolfhound or that bastard on Charles Street. Feel free to try."

The man picked up the pen hesitantly, his face set in a tight grimace. He traced a wobbly looking 'X' where Jessamine pointed. She tutted to herself, but made no comment. Instead she held out her hand. "Welcome aboard, Farley. You're one of us now."

Farley's hand engulfed Jessamine's. She nodded. "The men's rooms are two floors down- you're welcome to sleep in any empty bunk you find, blankets and pillows are in the closet. Someone will be awake to point them out, I assure you."

"If it's all the same," he replied, "I'll be bunking in my boat."

"Very well then. Make sure to spread the word that folks can come to me if they're looking to leave the city. I'll do my part. You do yours."

Farley made a stiff sort of nod, and left. Jessamine shuffled the papers around on her desk for a bit, then crumpled the "contract" Farley had signed and tossed it into the bin.

"'One of us now'?"

"If the man knows he's on probation, then he'll be on his best behavior. If I tell him he's already in, I'll get to see what he's really like under pressure."

"Maybe he's a spy."

"Maybe." She stretched. "We'll see soon enough. Enjoy your trip?"

"Serkonos is lovely this time of year. The company, not so much."

"I see your accent is coming back." She stepped toward him and laced her fingers through his. "I missed that."

Corvo smiled. "Well, I'll try to hang onto it this time."

Jessamine laughed. "It sounds awful when you force it like that. Did you have any trouble on the way home?"

"I ran into a sickly looking man in an alley- think he went mad, poor-"

Jessamine immediately pulled back. "Was he sick on you?"

"What?"

"Did he bite you?" She grabbed his wrist and rolled the sleeve up, inspecting his arm. "We'll have to burn this coat."

"Are you  _mad_?" Corvo yanked his arm away. Jessamine scowled.

"Listen, you remember that bug that was going around when you left? The one Gordy got?"

"Y-yes, a seasonal flu-"

" _Not_ a flu. Worse than that, we don't even know what is is yet. Rumor has it that's what killed the Emperor. Was the man you met vomiting black?"

"I didn't see-"

"Was he bleeding from the eyes?" Her voice was worried, but forceful.

"I, I don't know, perhaps-"

"Take off your clothes."

"What?"

" _Strip_ , Corvo."

Confused, he did as she said. He shucked his coat and was pulling his shirt over his head when he heard a voice from the door. "Mommy? What's going on?"

"Go back to bed sweetie."

" _Corvo_!  _You're back_!"

"Bed, Emily,  _now_!" Jessamine snapped. Corvo heard footsteps fleeing down the hall, and a door closing shut. Jessamine turned back to Corvo. "Throw those in the fireplace."

"I think you're overreacting."

"Gordy's  _dead_ , Corvo. He died of this... disease only a couple weeks after you left. It's nasty business, and I'm not taking that chance."

Corvo unbuckled his belt and tossed his outfit where he was told. It occurred to him that it was actually a bit nippy tonight, despite it being the warm months, and standing buck naked in an attic room was perhaps not the most ideal of circumstances.

Jessamine left the room and returned with a box of matches and a red tube. "Drink this." She shoved the tube into Corvo's hands and struck a match.

"Do you have to? It's a nice coat."

"No chances." She dropped the match into the cloth and struck a second one for good measure.

Corvo, meanwhile, was struggling between opening the tube and protecting his dignity. "How do you open this?"

Jessamine grabbed the tube again, turned it right-side up and twisted the cap off. "Stand up straight, Corvo, it's nothing I haven't seen."

The liquid in the vial was quite a bit thicker than Corvo anticipated- he choked on it and sputtered. Jessamine thumped him on the back and insisted he keep drinking. It was almost gel-like, but he managed to down the entire tube. He wiped his mouth. "Tastes like old leaves."

"It's cheaper than the Piero stuff. I hear he makes it out of river krusts."

"Disgusting."

She rubbed his shoulders. "You should be fine now. Get some rest." Corvo laid his head on top of hers. "In your own room. Until we're sure you weren't infected."


	3. Month of Clans: Changing

**CHAPTER 2**

**MONTH OF CLANS: CHANGING**

* * *

"So what happened to Mr. Higgins? Did you kill him? Did he cry?"

"I didn't kill him. He did cry a bit though." Emily swung Corvo's hand as they walked. "I left him on an island off the coast of Serkonos. They still mostly speak Serk there- it'll be a while before he comes back."

" _If_  he comes back."

Corvo chuckled. "That's the thing about letting folks live. They  _always_ come back. Might be a bit humbler this time around, though."

Emily smiled. "He was a bad guy, right?"

"Of course." It could've been the truth- he never paid much attention to politics. The man could've been a saint, for all he knew. Getting rid of the man was a job. Nothing more. But Emily didn't need to know that yet. Until she was old enough to run the gang with her mother, she didn't need to know too many of the specifics.

"Mom says the new guy has a boat. Do you think he'll give me rides?"

"Emily, I don't want you going near him until we're sure he's actually on our side."

" _But if he is_."

Corvo sighed. "If he is, then  _yes_ , I'm sure he'll give you rides."

Emily was still chattering away when they made it to the tailor's. Jessamine was a common patron of theirs, thanks to a (distant) blood relationship, so they knew Corvo and Emily well.

Custis was sitting at a desk that had been shoved in the corner, idly scratching away at a log book. His twin and his younger brother were busy in their own corner, stitching long pieces of canvas together.

"Are you making boat sails?" Emily asked.

"Winding sheets." Morgan muttered. He had three pins shoved in his mouth, and seemed very intent on his work.

"Here for your new outfit?" Custis didn't even look up as he asked.

"And a new coat. For Corvo."

Morgan elbowed his brother. "You go deal with the customers, Treavor. I'm busy."

Treavor sighed, but did as he was told, shoving the needle sideways between pieces to hold his place. He waved them over to the window and disappeared behind a door. Emily stood on the raised platform they had installed there, arms stretched out expectantly. Treavor returned with a neatly folded stack of blue and white fabric. Emily's eyes widened.

"You got the color! Did you make the sailor's collar, like I asked?"

Treavor nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Calm down, calm down, let's see if they fit first."

He helped Emily pull the shirt over her day clothes and button it, but stood back to let her pull the pants on herself.

She spun around. "How does it look, Corvo?"

"Beautiful."

"Hold still, the hem needs to be taken out a bit." Treavor grabbed her arm and lifted it. "Hold it out, please. And stop bouncing."

He deftly slit the thread and shuffled the hem of the sleeve down to the appropriate length. Meanwhile, Emily resumed her chattering, asking about uniforms and ball gowns and what exactly was a winding sheet? While Corvo glanced around the shop.

The Pendletons were not the best tailors in Dunwall, but they were efficient, and reasonably priced, provided you didn't request anything too elaborate. Their shop wasn't too far away, about three streets East of Bottle Street. The building was small, bordering on cramped, and only two stories high. It was old, and badly heated in the winter, but it had been in their family for as long as the Pendletons could imagine. There was one massive window on the first floor, which allowed passers-by to look in and observe the brothers at work.

"All right then, Corvo, what are you looking for?" Treavor flicked and stretched his wrist, as Emily hopped down and started shucking the clothing.

"Something long, and -"

" _Don't throw those on the floor_!" Treavor screeched, horrified as he scrambled to gather up the clothes Emily had just removed. "They'll wrinkle." His brothers sniggered as he started folding the outfit and setting it carefully on an empty stool.

Corvo continued. "Something long and light. Preferably with a lot of pockets."

Treavor frowned. "Didn't we make you something like that last month?"

"We had to burn it."

"You-" Treavor covered his eyes with his hand and made a number of exasperated noises. "You burned it."

"Sorry."

"That was my  _finest_ piece of work."

"I had a run-in with a..." Corvo stalled. The hell were they called?

"Weeper!" Emily chimed.

Treavor's frown deepened and he sighed dramatically. "Well if  _that's_  the case." He sounded hardly forgiving, but he grabbed his measuring tape and gestured for Corvo to get up on the platform. "Arms up. You said you wanted this for summer or winter?"

"Summer. Lots of pockets."

"It'll have to be a bit thicker than usual, then. I'll do what I can. Color?"

"Black."

Treavor tightened the tape around Corvo's chest, and inspected the tick marks. "It doesn't matter how thin the cloth is, you're going to be roasting in black."

"I'm from Serkonos. I'll manage."

"Ah, yes, I was wondering where that accent you picked up was from." Treavor looped the tape and set it aside. "Well your measurements have changed much. I should have it done within the next few weeks."

Corvo raised an eyebrow. "Getting lazy, are we Treavor?"

" _I am not_!" Treavor snapped, his face flushing. "It's first come first serve, Corvo, and you know it! We got an order for fifty more winding sheets just yesterday, and thirty two days before that! I'll have you know we've been working day and-"

Corvo held up his hands, choking back laughter. It was a bit hard to take such a small man seriously when he got flustered like this- he turned beet red and started wringing his hands so badly Corvo swore he was going to tear the skin off. "I'm sorry, Treavor, calm down, it was a joke."

" _Very funny_."

"Two weeks then."

Treavor didn't answer, but huffed back off to his stool. Morgan tutted. "You need to be more careful, Treavor. You can't keep leaving your projects in such a mess."

"I didn't, I-"

Rather despairingly, Treavor discovered that his winding sheet was in ruins. The stitches had become loosened and tangled. The whole thing would have to be re-done. Morgan just shook his head and sniggered.

* * *

When at home, Corvo spent most of his time behind Jessamine. It was known that wherever she went, he followed. No one was entirely certain when it happened- when the renegade smuggler hitched his wagon to Blue Jess's considerably profitable train- but no one questioned it either. At least, not out loud. There were rumors enough, but anyone with half a brain made sure to discuss them well outside of Bottle Street. Jessamine did not tolerate rumors or undue slander against herself- a lesson the underworld of Dunwall learned first-hand when Marley Masters, a kingpin in criminal activities that had started moving in on Bottle Street vanished for nearly a year, only to be found undernourished and half-frozen on some uninhabited Tyvian isle.

Some might call Jessamine "soft." Those people were stupid.

"Things are going to get harder before they get better." She told him that night, at dinner. She made a point of taking meals with her crew- she claimed it fostered greater loyalty, and gave the impression that she was always watching. Corvo supposed there might be some truth to it. In her five years as a "Lady" of the underworld, there had been but a handful of challengers to her title, and only one of them had occurred during Corvo's time there. "We won't be in mourning forever, and people will only tolerate that crazy bat in power for so long." She took a bite out of some bread spread with potted whale's meat. "Things might get busy."

"Busy?"

Jessamine nodded. "There's going to be a shift in politics. Some new noble family will take the throne- the Kaldwin Dynasty is at an end." She wiped a bit of jellied eel slime off of Emily's face. "Mark my words, there will be blood in the streets before there's a proper Emperor on the throne again."

Jessamine had a way of knowing things. Corvo always wondered if it had anything to do with her... 'profession' beforehand. The people she'd seen, the people she'd spoken to, the people she'd...

Well. That wasn't a train of thought he liked to think about too much. And Jessamine never liked talking about it.

"And how much of this blood will  _we_ be spilling?"

"I'd start getting your sleep now." She said it jokingly. Corvo shook his head.

* * *

Things had changed since Corvo had been gone, and he hadn't been gone long. Serkonos was close to Dunwall, and it took perhaps a week to reach its nearest port. Two weeks to circle around the upper horn and find an island small and backwards enough to leave an upcoming politician where he wouldn't be missed. Two weeks again for the return.

It didn't occur to him to think much of the plague until he attempted to visit a pawn shop on Mare's Street, only to find it barricaded and blocked off. It was the first time he'd seen the tall iron walls- no way around them or over them, unless one suddenly discovered a means of shooting themselves twenty or so feet in the air. He'd have to find someone else to sell Serkonan knives to.

He couldn't help but feel as though it were an overreaction. He'd seen no sickly people since his arrival home, and when he returned to the alley the next morning the man he'd fought with was long gone. Even the blood on the wall had blended into the bricks. He supposed that was an overreaction on his part too.

There was a curio shop on the other side of the city, just outside of Jessamine's turf, and Corvo was halfway between lost and giving up on finding it when he spotted a familiarly broad set of shoulders half stuck out of an alley.

Jessamine's newest "crew member" seemed to be talking quietly with someone- Corvo wasn't close enough to hear what either of them were saying, and the conversation seemed to be over by the time he approached the bear-like man.

Corvo had to give the man credit- he was obviously shocked to turn around and see Jessamine's right-hand man standing behind him. But Farley didn't yelp or jump or lash out- he just stiffened, wide eyed for a moment, before speaking. "Hello, er..."

"Corvo." He leaned to the left and peered down the alley. Whoever Farley had been speaking with had vanished.

The two stood awkwardly for a moment, Farley looking like a dog in a henhouse. He didn't strike Corvo as a particularly intelligent man- strong and broad in body, perhaps, but not so much in mind. He opened his mouth to ask about Farley's 'friend', but what came out instead was "I'm looking for a curio shop that's supposed to be nearby. Bunting's place."

This seemed to shake the man out of his nerves- his shoulders squared and his face relaxed. "You're about two streets off. Here," he pointed at a street sign. "Follow Chamberlain until you find Barley Street. Take a right, it should be on your left."

Corvo nodded slowly. Chamberlain, right, left. Farley was already shuffling off. Knives could be sold at any time. Corvo fell into step with the giant, who raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything more.

The two walked in silence for a few paces. Finally, Corvo cleared his throat. "Tell me about yourself."

"Why?"

"Most men don't usually just go looking for gangs to join."

"I thought it was a crew."

Corvo shrugged.

There was another awkward pause before Farley spoke again. "My name is Farley Havelock. Formerly of His Majesty's Navy."

"Formerly?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

Corvo sidestepped in front of Farley, stopping the man in his tracks. "You're going to have to get over that."

Farley folded his arms and glared. "If you have a question, then  _ask_."

What are you doing? What are your plans? What is your business with Jessamine? How high would I have to jump to snap your neck and be certain she's safe?

"Why aren't you in the Navy anymore?"

Farley stepped around him and started walking again. Corvo once again fell in step. "Kicked out."

"Why?"

"I made a poor call."

"Which was?"

"My own business."

" _Which was?_ " Corvo was growing frustrated with this line of interrogation. The two of them rounded a corner.

"Let's just say I strongly misjudged someone's ability to  _shut their trap_."

"Is that a threat?"

Farley stopped in his tracks. He gestured across the street. "I believe this is the 'curio shop' you were looking for." Without giving a farewell or even waiting for one, the ex-navy man shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked down his streets.

_Maybe_ , Corvo thought,  _Not quite as stupid as anticipated_.


End file.
